Mystery
She could almost taste freedom
Her steps faltered as the grim looking forest stretched ahead of her. She could make it. She was so close that the smell of freshly wet soil knocked the wind out of her lungs. It smelled like home, her home. But she couldn’t indulge in that feeling anymore. She won’t. Every step brought her closer and closer to those shadowy standing figures, like parents stretching out their arms to welcome back a long-lost child. The autumn wind seeped through what was left of her raggedy old nightgown. Her pounding heart made it almost impossible for her to hear the crunch of the leaves as she stepped past the barricade of trees. The cuts and scrapes that started to pepper her moonlighted skin were not enough of a hindrance for her to stop and catch a breath. She could feel the pungent bitterness in her mouth and the knot that was lodged in her throat. A few more steps. She would make it past the sheltering forest. She couldn’t risk getting caught. The beads of sweat on her forehead made their way past her eyebrows and into her eyes. There. She could see a shape starting to take form with every shaky, painful breath, right before her eyes. A shake of the head and her sight was clear again. She now reached the outskirts of the forest. With one hand on the rough prickly bark and the other one on her knee, she tried to steady herself and ease the stinging pain that spread through her lungs. After a few deep breaths she looked up and saw a weathered fence surrounding an old barn. She listened closely for any sounds that may reveal a human presence. It seemed it was a forsaken place, just the right thing for her. She closed the distance to the fence and with both hands on the putrid wood she lifted herself up and was now on the other side. After a few shy steps she begun to run towards the shabby barn. The entrance was guarded by two massive wooden doors that wouldn’t budge, not even after a few attempts to open them. Mere moments later, she was circling the impenetrable structure. She finally found a way in. In the northern side of the building a couple of wood boards were ripped out of the walls. Maybe not ripped out. Hopefully they were just rotten by time. She barely squeezed through that little gap. “We’re safe”, she whispered between shallow breaths while leaning her head on the wooden wall and closing her eyes. Somewhere in the distance outside, a dog was barking. She jolted up right, dread starting to pool in her gut. It couldn’t be. There is no way they found her this easily. “No, no, no…this can’t happen.”. She hastily looked around her and saw and old truck covered in dust at the wall furthest from her. She tried the door and luckily it gave in. The bench was torn in various places and had what seemed like scratch marks all over it. It wasn’t enough room for her to safely hide there. She carefully closed the door and checked the back of the truck. She found there a tool box with a hammer and various screwdrivers in it. She picked one with a cross head and popped in the back where she laid flat on her back waiting. The barking rang in her ears louder and louder. She closed her eyes and rested one hand on her stomach while clutching with the other one the screwdriver. A murmur of voices was making its way into every abandoned nook of the barn. As they drew closer, she could hear them better, but not quite good enough for her to understand if she will be captured or if this will be one of those near miss situations. “Check it and report back”. She heard that loud and clear. There was no escaping this time, no better life waiting for her far away from this retched place. This will be the end for her. The doorway creaked open and moonlight poured in. The man’s steps were getting closer. She held her breath but it felt like that wasn’t enough so she silently prayed to everyone who will listen. The man inched closer to the truck and swiftly moved his lantern from side to side. Right as he was turning around, the light landed on the truck door where he noticed a freshly small hand print. She listened as his steps came to a halt. The door opened. There is no way I could overthrow him in a fair fight. She looked over the side of the truck as he was still looking inside and used all of her will power to push that screwdriver in his neck. He was too quick for her and she missed a little bit. It was better than nothing though. His upper arm started gushing blood but that didn’t seem to faze him one bit. He grabbed her wrists and pulled her out of the truck. “Here!” the man yelled and several others came running inside, weapons ready to be used if necessary. She was struggling to break free. She looked like a wild animal, hair disheveled, shot eyes, dirt all over her face and bare feet. The screwdriver was ripped out of her hands. “No, no, no, please… let me go. I can’t go back there.” she said, as she twisted and turned with quick writhing movements. “You don’t understand. We’re not safe there. We, we can’t… please.”. She looked into the man’s eyes and for a fraction of a second, he seemed to change his mind and let her go. But he didn’t understand who she was referring to. “We” …I know that she was the only one to escape. Maybe they were right, maybe she really is crazy. Seeing that he still pulled her closer to the doorway, she dropped to the ground and when he tried to pull her up, she bit him. He loosened his grip and she seized this opportunity and made a reach for his gun. Some were backing away, palms up, some were frozen in place but with one hand on their guns. “Don’t move. I just want to leave. You don’t understand…” she said, tears pouring down her pale cheeks like streams of fresh mountain water. “I don’t want to hurt anyone. I need to leave. I need to leave that house behind. You don’t know what they do there. Just step out of my way and you’ll never see me again. Us again…”. A fraction of a second passed and it was enough for the man to silently nod towards her while she looked down to her belly. The others understood. They lifted up their guns. The noise of the bullets leaving the guns filled the night. The man looked almost sad as she collapsed to the ground. “Poor thing. Lift her up and hide the body. We’ll tell them that she escaped.” She wasn’t supposed to die there and not live her life. Especially not after all that time.
By eternal_sun5 years ago in Fiction
Family emergency! Who stole my slice of cake?
Darryl had prepared himself for a well-earned rest. Watching TV with the legs up was stage one. Stage two consisted of a beverage and food. He wasn't keen on being inebriated so early on a Saturday, so he helped himself to a flavoured drink from the fridge. He had also picked up a chocolate cake from the shops on his commute from work and intended to have a slice whilst relaxing . . . but that's when things went wrong.
By Euan Brennan5 years ago in Fiction
"The Book of the Essence"
You are Jack, a wizard living in the Kingdom of Larion. You look around and see nothing but ruined buildings that are is quite come probably from all the magic that once filled this place. you have come here looking for an enchanted Spellbook of extraordinary force called "The Book of the Essence". This place doesn't look very promising. You think a large group of goblins have raided the place and started to dig around the area you see. Goblins are infertile species in very cunning you walk towards the goblins and see them starting to cover themselves and gold and Jewelry. They're planning to abandon the place, this is a perfect chance for you to get the book.
By Maiya Devi Dahal5 years ago in Fiction
Old Man Red's Barn
Edith and Rozelynne were two ordinary girls, living in the very ordinary town of Woodbury, Tennessee, where the leading cause of death among adolescents was boredom. As summer faded into a distant memory, the girls prepared to start junior high at the local middle school. They were neighbors on Hillcrest Lane, a quiet street tucked away in their sleepy little town. They loved to walk to the Five and Dime, wade in the creek, and watch movies at the cinema; the only place they were forbidden to go was Old Man Red’s barn.
By Katherine Nesbitt5 years ago in Fiction
Working from home
Working from home is all fun and games until it is what supports you and your family. Working from home isn’t as easy as people make it seem, they always say they get to work when they want, but people don’t realize that it is all the time, they are working all the time, they can never turn that clock off, and that’s okay with them because most people love and enjoy them.
By Audrey DeLong5 years ago in Fiction
Wrath
There was an old barn painted in new blood. It was reddish-black and bleeding, a bloody waterfall, flowing down along the dirt with gouts of gasoline. A fire rose in and around the barn, in a ring, from a singular match. There were cries coming from inside, but the hay sprinkled in the threshold acted as a bulwark of flames that blocked and burned the entrance, and muffled the clamor. A shadow formed from the back wall of the barn, of a hand, reaching upward, as if desperately gasping for air. The shadowed arm grew larger, reaching farther, and suddenly dropped and descended, sinking beneath the uprising of fire and smoke. The fire still bursting from the floor and smoke clouding over the roof through the loft window and sprouting out the cupola like a chimney. The cries have risen in pitch, still audible under the flapping of wading flames. A high wind roared that day, further waving the fire and ash toward the corn fields. The barnyard animals got burned alive, the ones that hadn’t yet were quiet now, of terror, of their home and neighbors being cooked; they would soon be next, no question about it.
By Octovo Libra 5 years ago in Fiction
shark bated.
Swimming in the depths, the shallow shore behind, standing on a rock the elementary divide. A woman hiding beneath, the blood not from the rock, did tell a tale of the shark, that would consume becoming her. Now the sea was god, the shores were shallow and mankind that caused all the fear. Not the vast seas I used to fear, she was going to eat the fish swimming in the sea but the fear that crippled, that stopped the child that day, was the vastness of the ocean and the light that filled her day.
By Jennifer orr5 years ago in Fiction
The Case at the Agra Hotel
In April 2018, Jeet Thakur Sahai had a few days of holidays so he went to Agra. His cousin Abhishek owned a hotel there called Hotel Grandeur. It was about 40 km from the Taj Mahal. Jeet had a good time in Agra for the first few days with his cousin and his family.
By Anshuman Kumar5 years ago in Fiction
The First Case
Jeet Thakur Sahai had waited for July 10th, 2017 for quite a while. Finally he had 3 weeks of vacation and was looking forward to spend it with his brother Ravi and his family in London, England. Jeet was working as a research analyst with the Delhi Police for over six years. He was originally from Lucknow and his parents still lived there. Both parents had retired. Jeet would visit them every 6 months and once a year they would visit him in Delhi as well.
By Anshuman Kumar5 years ago in Fiction
Thin Air
Not so long ago, an unkindness of infected pests invaded Joshing Town’s last cultivating farm, leaving site of no-good land. Since the loss of a handful of good farms, the Ministry of Agriculture, Fisheries and Food had decided to educate the farmers, improve farm security and provide protection to all major farms within the circumference. One of the MAFF protected farm was in the meadows of Old Man’s Land where the grazing grass was the thickest. This farm was a renewed form of another private farm which was recently sold and then renamed as Gemre Miri Farmhouse, named after the estate owner’s only living child, Miri P. Gemre.
By Lobna Kowsar5 years ago in Fiction
Another day another crisis
Another day, another crisis. What is normal? It all started so simply and slowly, a routine call from the mail room. A suspicious package wrapped in brown paper had arrived in the post, will I get it checked out? The fancy odour detectors had not shown anything, the x rays had not detected anything looking like explosives so the parcel had been put in the containment room but marked as low urgency. Nobody was rushing about in a panic, so I waited until I had dealt with the overnight paper work then went to the mail room carrying a cup of coffee. If this delivery had been in a modern bubble wrap container or a standard express delivery carton, it would probably never have been so carefully examined, it was the old fashion use of brown paper that had suggested a need for some caution. I initiated a full spectrum trace of poisons or bio-agents on the outer surface. It is surprisingly difficult to package up something like anthrax without leaving some minute trace on the outer wrapping but nothing was registered. I put on standard disposable gloves and picked up the package. Not heavy, in fact surprisingly light, about twelve inches cube, almost exactly regular in every dimension. A gentle shake did not seem to cause any loose movement inside it. The brown paper was creased as if it had been folded into other sized packs before being used on this one. The hand written address was in black ball point “ink” the postage stamp was correct for second class delivery and the post office had obviously fed it through automated sorting machines with no problems. The cancelling of the postage stamp showed it had been posted three days ago. As expected we found many differing sets of finger prints on the wrapping but we followed protocols and made a record of them all, for later feeding through the data base of prints. The brown paper was sealed with transparent sticky tape, the type available in every supermarket, corner shop and stationary outlet, all of the country, so not any use to me. I used a scalpel and sliced the sticky tape in a way that allowed me to unfold the brown paper. It had been used on another package before this one the inside clearly showed where a label had been previously stuck, then removed, I put this aside as forensics may come up with a clue to the sender, from this previous use. Thinking about the sender it had to be someone in the “business” to know this address. We are a secret organisation for good reason and our address is not public knowledge. The top layer of content were brand new clothes, sweat shirts from a very popular very cheap multi outlet chain. They appeared to be new and unused but were not individually wrapped. Under this top layer was the real content. Documents. Or rather parts of documents. They were roughly torn not cut, ragged edges showed they had been rather hastily torn up and shoved in the package. Under the paperwork were more clothes very similar to the top layer.
By Peter Rose5 years ago in Fiction
